[Sherlock Holmes] The Legend of the Nightingale

(God's perspective)

In mid-October, Sherlock Holmes cracked the conspiracy of the "Redhead Society" to rob banks through tunnels, and the London detective once again occupied the headlines of major newspapers.But it's not over yet.The criminal John Clay confessed that he did not come up with these plans by himself, but obtained the plans through correspondence with a man named Pollock. Once successful, they will share the spoils together.This is the name on which the first letter deposited at Scotland Yard was signed.

Based on the clues provided by Clay they managed to find the man who might be Pollock, but ridiculously there was no way to go any further.Pollock is not his real name, he has a legitimate identity and job.All correspondence was destroyed, and Clay produced an alibi for the only in-person conversation dictated by Clay.Scotland Yard conducted a handwriting test on Irene's letter, and it turned out that it was not his own handwriting.Clay's face-to-face identification has also become dubious.

On Saturday morning, 221B Baker Street has a warm atmosphere.

"It's a pity that the doctor and Angela are not here," said the landlady regretfully. "I missed the new recipe taught by Mrs. Dole. It's bad for the biscuits to be cold. She shouldn't be at work today, right?"

"The Star wants to interview her," said Holmes. "I refuse to be interviewed, and they settle for the next best thing."

"Ah, Angela is going to be in the newspaper again?"

"It seems that it was just because the reporter invited her to dinner. If she had paid for it herself, she would have walked straight through the door of that restaurant without turning her eyes."

"It's not fair to talk like that, Mr. Holmes. She's not that kind of person—although I don't know if it's a good thing to run around with you all day." Mrs. Hudson habitually wiped a little water on the table, " Which restaurant?"

"Let me recall." Holmes leaned back in his chair. "It's a nerve-wracking thing. It should be the one next to Smith's."

"She didn't tell me, or she could find a tuner by the way," Mrs. Hudson said. "It's nothing to break a bank robbery, but I can't remember where my students go."

Holmes took a sip of his tea indifferently. "She didn't think it was strange at all. She was not involved in this case, and interviewing her would not give you first-hand information."

"People at The Star have always been weird. They were like that when I was young."

"You are not old now, Mrs. Hudson." Holmes smiled, and handed his empty glass and tray to the landlady.

"What can I say to you, Mr. Holmes." Mrs. Hudson went out with a tray with a big smile on her face.Not long after, the doorbell rang and she came back to report again.

"Miss Dolan is here."

Holmes rose from the table with an expression that could almost be described as distressed.

"According to common sense, since she has voluntarily engaged to the Lord, it can be concluded that she and Watson should have nothing to do with each other."

"What's that called, Mr. Holmes, can't she come and see her friends? Miss Dolan doesn't know that Angela is not at home today. It's just..."

The detective looked down at his own appearance, which flouted all social decorum.

"You go and receive her, Mrs. Hudson, and I will avoid giving Miss Dolan an impression of insolence."

"To avoid it now that I think about it," muttered Mrs. Hudson as she went downstairs.Seeing that the well-dressed Hatty Dolan had taken off her floral hat and stood in the living room, the landlady immediately went up to her.

"Very unfortunate, Miss Dolan. Angela is not here."

"That's a pity. I just wanted to bring her something." Hattie handed a bag to Mrs. Hudson. "Here are some books she said she wanted very much last time."

"Oh, this is really..."

Mrs. Hudson's words were interrupted by the hasty ringing of the doorbell.The two women looked at the door at the same time, as if they heard a bad omen from the voice.

"I'll answer the door," said the landlady.Hatty retreated to the sofa.The person who came in was Lestrade with an irritable face, as if he had something to hide and couldn't speak.He saluted Hatty first.

"Is Mr. Holmes there? Miss Nightingale's business is very urgent. He must come at once."

"Yes, Mr. Inspector. I'll go and talk to him. Ah, Miss Dolan, sit down first, and I'll get you something to drink later. Mr. Holmes, it's Inspector Lestrade!" shouted the landlady as she ran. Going up the stairs with a horrified expression, "Angela seems to have had an accident again."

Holmes in the room stood up, not so much anxious as helpless.Lestrade had followed the landlady in before the announcement was over.

"It's all on me, old friend. When I introduced her before, I didn't expect this girl to be full of troubles." The police officer said with a wry smile, "But her habit of carrying a handful of . I taught."

"It's not entirely my teaching." Holmes threw off the nightgown he was wearing, walked to the door and began to comb his hair in front of the full-length mirror. "Strictly speaking, there is still a share for that woman."

"Who are you talking about?"

"It's okay, you can continue."

"She was interviewed by The Star in the restaurant..."

"Isn't it because he disagreed with the reporter and just shot that poor man."

"Well, it's actually... it's not."

Holmes raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

"As far as I know about her, she's not crazy enough for that."

"They talked alone in the private room, so no one knew what was said in detail, only that they had quarreled. Afterwards, the whole restaurant heard a gunshot, and the waiter almost collided with Miss Nightingale when he ran over. The door was open and the reporter fell to the ground with blood everywhere."

"They said Angela did it?" exclaimed Mrs. Hudson.

"Don't get excited, Mrs. Hudson, no one believes it's her. It's just that when they handed in Nightingale's gun, the real murderer left the scene without haste." Holmes thought about his own reflection in the mirror. Seconds, "Let's go. Is she on site?"

"Correct."

"I'm sorry to excuse you, Miss Dolan. Would you like to stay for dinner? I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson, but she acquiesces. As for us, Mr. Inspector, let's have a drink in the dining room."

It's a perfect history repeating itself.The scene was a mess, Nightingale sat at a dining table outside the private room with his head bowed, surrounded by police guards.There are onlookers outside the window, who cannot approach because of the security guard.Holmes nodded to Nightingale, who looked up at him.

"So quiet? I thought she would chatter." Holmes said casually to Lestrade.

"She continued to explain for half an hour that she was not the first person to arrive at the scene, Mr. Inspector." A police officer replied to Holmes by reporting to Lestrade. "I think she is just unable to do what she wants."

"Better than expected." Holmes entered the private room. "Who is the dead?"

"Star reporter, Jonathan Silver."

"Any enemies?"

"It's hard to say. This kind of occupation is always easy to offend people. And this Mr. Silver may be the only one in London who has never been offended. Mr. Holmes, maybe you..."

"He has offended himself greatly this time. Has the injury been examined?" Holmes knelt down and looked at the bloodstains on the ground, intercepting what Lestrade might say later about the report written by Silver.

"I checked it. It was probably shot at the door, right in the heart. The type of bullet is the same as Miss Nightingale's, but I still need to take it back for inspection to see if it is the same gun."

"Officer, your mind is sharp today." Holmes stood up and tried several standing angles at the door.Lestrade couldn't laugh or cry:

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, but this is a basic procedure."

"Actually, the result is obvious without the gun inspection-the distance from the door to the table, let Nightingale shoot a person in the heart, the devil must help."

"What are you talking about? She can't hit it with only a few steps away?"

"Oh, you can't blame her. It's only been a month since she shot her first shot."

"I hope this is a tenable testimony." Lestrade looked at Nightingale with an uncertain face.

"Silver wasn't shot sitting in a chair. He was seated sideways to the door, at an angle that didn't hit the heart. He got up and walked over to the door, cup still in his hand—look at the floor The broken glass—in a relaxed state, perhaps having talked with the man at the door, did not expect life to be in danger. The man at the door suddenly opened fire—” said Holmes, entering the room abruptly again, circumventing the There was blood all over the ground to avoid interference from the footprints, and he bent down to pick up something from the corner.

"He didn't have time to call for help, maybe he was petrified, but even so, Nightingale couldn't reach the speed of aiming and shooting. This distance can prevent blood from splashing on himself."

"Miss Nightingale," Lestrade asked, turning around, "why did you go out?"

Nightingale pursed her lips.

"Mr. Silver asked some offensive questions and we almost got into an argument. He said if I can't maintain a suitable attitude, please go out and calm down first. I don't want to talk to him anymore. I was going to just leave, but ..."

"But you ran back when you heard the gunshot." Holmes returned the same way with the things he had just picked up, and leaned casually on the door frame. "It's a good habit for a detective, but it's usually easy to get yourself into trouble."

"I arrived at the same time as the waiter." Nightingale expressed dissatisfaction, "I can't be treated like this just because I have a gun on my body."

"Were you the first to spot him?"

"Certainly not. There was a woman screaming, almost simultaneously with the gunfire."

"The waiter heard the screaming. Tell him to come here," Lestrade said to the officer beside him.They brought over the waiter who called the police.

"I wasn't the first one to see it," he said. "I went to see a lady running from the door of the private room yelling. She should be a witness."

"Have you seen what that lady is like?" asked Holmes.

"She was covered with a black veil, so she couldn't see clearly. I just remember that she was not tall and was dressed in black."

"Ridiculous." Nightingale sneered, "A woman in mourning comes to the restaurant? Is it just to find out that someone has been shot? Rather than saying that she is an anti-traditional person, it might be better to say that she just wants to hide her face."

"Miss Nightingale, you cannot comment on the case now." Lestrade interrupted her helplessly, "You are a suspect."

"Presumed innocent until proven guilty," Nightingale protested.

"She is right. I meant the previous sentence." Holmes looked sternly at the waiter. "You must not have noticed that the lady is gone."

The waiter shook his head angrily and amusedly.

"Sir, everyone is just watching the scene. Who cares where a frightened woman goes?"

"Did you see her go out when you came back?" Lestrade asked Nightingale with a glimmer of hope.

"Obviously not." She held out a hand, black eyes full of sarcasm.

"The restaurant has a back door, and the waiter says it's always locked," Lestrade added. "Just checked, and it's still locked. That's not safe—but that's another story."

"The lady came in to put the things down, and although she was careful she still got blood on her shoe, which she wiped with her handkerchief. Instead of taking the evidence with her, she threw it into a flowerpot in the corner of the room." Holmes used two One finger shook the handkerchief he just picked up in front of people, "Reacted nervously, and it's too late to go back and pick it up."

"Anyone who is stained with other people's arterial blood will not be happy to accept it." The detective student is still afraid of blood.

"Now look at this handkerchief." Holmes unfolded it, and there was blood on it. "The workmanship is average. Judging from the details, it may be my own handcraft. I can't find the lady through the source of the product. There is no embroidered name or anything. Pretty alert."

The unconsciously appreciative tone in this sentence made Lestrade frowned.

"What did you say she put here?"

"She put the five orange cores on the table here. They are so shriveled, so they couldn't have just been left by the guests?" Holmes gave Nightingale a playful look.

"No oranges," she said, "and if you must ask, the handkerchief is not mine. I checked just now, and there is no blood on me."

"A trite story," said Holmes, admiring her, and then to Lestrade. "A lady came into the compartment and shot Mr. Silver in the absence of Nightingale, shouting for all to come and see." At the scene, she slipped away quietly. Miss Nightingale reacted too quickly unfortunately, but even if she didn't arrive at the first time, she was the most suspected one. If she really went out, someone would have seen her, police officer ? Don't tell me a single witness can't be found."

Lestrade said helplessly: "So we should go to the lady in mourning now. As for Miss Nightingale..."

Before the police officer finished speaking, she jumped up from her chair and ran to Holmes.

"Let's take a look at the scene again." Holmes smiled slightly. "As for Nightingale, she can participate in the discussion now."

The author has something to say: There is such a thing as the "Daily Star" in Britain, which only existed in the [-]th century, and the word "Star" is an edited one.

It was so slow that I was in a hurry, but I couldn't speed up.Oh my dear mistress...

I feel like I forgot what I had to say today -_-#